Flourless Chocolate Cake
by Astraise
Summary: Marshall, picky though he was, was a well-oiled machine when it came to women. A success. A testament to his gender. Or so he thought. Follows Marshall through 5 different dates, and his comparably absurd yet perfect adventures with Mary.
1. Five Tenets

**Flourless Chocolate Cake**

**1. Five Tenets**

Marshall was no doubt a picky man when it came to women. He had been with a respectable amount of them, enough to sample a range of ethnicities and careers, enough to know what kind of traits he preferred in a girl, and enough to successfully formalize his dating life. The description of the women he had dated in the past year went like this: Cecilia, a perfectly lovely blue-eyed redhead and an associate attorney who spoke of nothing but her job (except when she inadvertently insulted Marshall's favorite musician by calling him a "folk movement sob story turned washed-up rock star"), Lorraine, the epitome of a svelte, culturally-knowledgeable Mediterranean woman who worked as a fine dining waitress (and drove him insane by constantly primping and obsessing over her appearance), Dana, his gorgeous former professor with an intelligence to rival his (despite the fact that because of her he sadly learned that it was actually possible to find a woman to be TOO sexually forward), Katherine, a first-year intern at Presbyterian Hospital, a bit young, but who was unassumingly pretty with archaic, eccentric charms to match (and she might've remained with him longer, if her work hours weren't so chaotic and demanding), and Shelly, the shrink who often found herself working with the marshal service, and seemed to him to be a well-timed, interesting diversion (and probably would've had a lot of potential if her dependent ex hadn't interrupted their first date).

Because of the trial-and-error process of all his romantic involvements from the span of his adult life - these five women included - the description of the traits he preferred in a girl went like this: one, she must not be so culturally ignorant that she can't tell the difference between folk lyrical genius and commercialized couplets, two, she needs to be low maintenance enough that she doesn't require an entire salon to be carried around in her purse, three, she must be physically attractive to him, but not so overt that she makes sex therapists grimace, four, she must be fairly self-accomplished but not so engrossed in her work that she can't hardly see the trees for the forest, and five (most importantly), she mustn't be dependent on him in any capacity - she's so much her own person that she doesn't NEED him, she WANTS him.

And due to the longevity (or lack thereof) his relationships with women seemed to have, the description of the formula of his dating life went like this: the first date was typically a coffee shop where the pressure was kept to a minimum, the second date tried to be just as low-key but with lunch a part of the equation and chemistry (were there any possible) would be immediately apparent based upon the tempo of conversation, the third date usually involved dinner at an upscale, dimly lit restaurant where sexual tension would be allowed to simmer, the fourth date was when he would take her salsa dancing at the Cooperage and attempt to teach her what he knew of the mambo (furthering physical contact but drawing a line), and the fifth date always ended up being when temptation would be breached and conquered, or rather, he would invite her over to his apartment for a demonstration of his prowess with herb crusted salmon, grilled zucchini, rosemary potatoes, and (the coup de grace) flourless chocolate cake - the subsequent night of passion being the rewards he reaped from being so meticulous with his drawn-out seduction - and hopefully another demonstration of his prowess with Rocky Mountain toast the successive morning.

Marshall, picky though he was, was a well-oiled machine when it came to women. A success. A testament to his gender.

Or so he thought.

**Author's Note:** Hooray, my first In Plain Sight fanfiction! It's been seeeeveral years since I've published something on (so much so that I can't remember the password on my old account, and deleted that email address long ago), so please be kind! I've been used to writing for myself, until now. But I love the dynamic between Mary and Marshall so much that I just couldn't resist publishing something here.


	2. Unity of Opposites

**Flourless Chocolate Cake**

**2. Unity of Opposites**

She was certainly a pretty women. Beautiful, even, when she smiled behind her coffee cop after he had said something particularly witty, or when she tilted her head to the left by a mere 22.5 degrees mid-laugh.

The problem with Shelly Finkel wasn't looks, of that much Marshall was certain. But he was still fairly conflicted about how he felt about her. Attractive, _yes. _Intelligent, _yes_. Compatible, _who's to say otherwise?_ So what was off about this date - what couldn't he place his finger on? What made him think he should probably throw his double latte on her and run as though she were incubating influenza A subtype H1N1?

Unnerving though _that_ scenario was, he tried to brush it off as his own incongruous suspicion of any woman that wasn't a gun-toting blonde.

_But none of that!_ _Focus, Mann. Don't screw up a potentially good thing with Shelly just because she's not 68 inches tall, doesn't have the disposition of a Bengal tiger, and has hair the color of arabica beans rather than ready-to-harvest wheat..._

His own mental chastising was interrupted by the sudden realization that Shelly was asking him a question.

"I mean, I can't be the only who's felt like that before, right?"

"Huh?"

_Excellent, Marshall. Look at her. She's probably debating whether or not you have narcissistic personality disorder or if you really just are that daft._

"I'm sorry, Shelly. It's just that I realized I didn't turn off my computer at the office, and Mary's probably going to buy a bunch of junk with my Amazon account." Marshall narrowed his eyes dubiously as he listened to his own words. As amazing as that excuse was, it was probably true. He would definitely be reviewing his billing statement as soon as this date was over, followed by an accusatory phone call.

"Uh-huh," she replied warily, "anyway, I was just asking if you've ever been in a relationship where you realized that your own self-sacrificing actions vacillated between a genuine desire to please your partner, and an unhealthy need to make them dependent on you. Because I for one - as a therapist and a self-respecting woman - can't believe that I'm the only one who fell prey to the trap of co-dependency."

"Err..." Marshall stalled by sipping his latte, "Co-dependency typically implies a malign desperation by both parties."

"Not exactly. It can manifest in other, more abstruse ways. For example, one of the people in the relationship may have so much on their plate that they run out of ways to deal with it all, while the other person is so prone to being a nurturer that they begin taking on many of their partner's problems. It starts this cycle of 'need' between them. The one with all the obvious problems needs the other to help them function, while the nurturer forgets what it means to stand alone and face their own personal issues, and instead finds purpose in being the provider."

This was it. This was exactly the wrinkle about her that he been unable to place his finger on. She was just too damn insightful, not to mention a more pathetic version of himself. He couldn't stand looking at his own female reflection.

"Then yeah, I know where you're coming from. Actually, you pretty much hit the nail on the head."

_Bravo, Self! At least you were honest with her. You could definitely make this work, you've just got to get her mind off this break up. I bet she's really interesting when she's not depressing as Hell! Tell her the joke about Heraclitus. That one is always a hit!_

"Ok ok, I've got one. How many Heraclitians does it take to change a lightbulb?"

He hadn't even delivered the punch line yet and she was already doing the adorable 22.5 degrees head tilt that accompanied her laughter.

"Hold that thought, actually," she said as her cellphone went off.

She pulled it out of her purse and looked at the caller ID. Marshall knew something was amiss when she raised her eyebrows with feigned, innocent curiosity.

"It's Don," she said lightly, as though nothing was wrong.

_Come on, woman. Don't answer that call. What was it that you were just telling me about the nurturer being unable to face their own personal crap?_

The mental vibrations he was sending her way urging her to _"Do not answer that phone!"_ apparently went unnoticed. She immediately answered.

"Hello," she said (too sweetly for his comfort), "sorry Marshall, I need to take this. I'll be right back."

He sighed, sipping his latte as he watched her get up and walk outside onto the coffee shop porch. Another attempt to get on with his life, only to be thwarted by the woeful ex.

_Well, you gave it an honest-to-god try, buddy. So how many Heraclitians does it take to change a lightbulb?  
_

"None," he said to himself despondently, "it's never the same lightbulb again anyway."

_____________

When Marshall came over to the small, two person table, Mary was leaning back with her feet propped up in the chair that was presumably his. He placed the plate of coffee cake and the mug of half caffeine, triple cappuccino, heavy foam on the table before brusquely pulling the chair away from her feet.

"Hey! You could've said please," she pouted, pulling her own cinnamon latte towards her protectively, "ooh, cake! You're so kind."

He slapped away her hand playfully.

"Try again," he encouraged.

"Please sir, may I have some of your cake?"

He stared at her patronizingly.

"Seriously, Mare? That's the best you've got?"

"Fine, fine. Have I told you today that I love you?"

_That's not a very funny joke._

She huffed, exasperated. He immediately sensed the mischievousness brewing in her eyes, and prepared himself for what he could only imagine was a full-on attack of the puppy dog eyes variety, of which he was known to be very susceptible.

"I would offer up my body to you for a bite of that cake!" she proclaimed in a near shout - loud enough to turn the head of every patron and barista in the cafe. Not expecting that response, he swallowed his hot cappuccino a bit too quickly, which further led to violent hacking.

_Resist the mental images resist the mental images resist the mental images resist the mental images resist the mental images... Oh god, naked Mary, feeding me cake, icing everywhere - no! No, no, no. Do not go any further with that. Resist the mental images resist the mental images resist the mental images..._

He haphazardly pushed the plate towards her.

"And once again, I am victorious," she gloated, seizing it.

"Only because my Achilles' heel is directly related to how embarrassed and awkward you are able to make me in a public setting. Really, death by puppy dog eyes would've been a more merciful way to get what you wanted," he said with his face buried in his hands.

"Yes, but much less entertaining."

She broke off a generous chunk of the cake, pulled his hands from his face, and unceremoniously stuffed it in his mouth. Her fingertips grazed his lips in the process, and while this sent an electrical current along his jaw, down his neck, and spreading into his chest, he was fairly certain she hadn't even noticed the contact. She leaned back and absentmindedly licked the crumbs from her fingers. He inwardly groaned.

_Could she at least have the decency to break eye contact when she does stuff like... that? There is no moral justification for this sort of torture._

"You're such a good sport," she said as she pulled her right index finger from her mouth, then went back to her cinnamon latte as though the world had been set right, "so when are we meeting this witness of yours?"

"I told her we'd be there at 10:30. So we still have twenty minutes."

"Good, I have some stuff I need to fax back at the office before lunch."

_Yes, and I am in desperate need of an abnormally cold shower._

He glowered, still trying to abolish an indiscreet fantasy involving copious amounts of icing.

"Eat your damn cake."

**Author's Note: **The chapter title "Unity of Opposites" refers to the postulation of Heraclitus, an ancient Greek philosopher (and subject of Marshall's lame/amazing joke) who died long before Socrates was even born. The term describes how existing objects possess many contrary properties that result in a paradoxical, harmonious state. If you haven't already grasped the significance of this term in relation to the Mary/Marshall story, then there is no hope for you. ;) Just kidding! Can't wait to see you in the next chapter.


End file.
